One Boggart, Two Braggarts and Three Things
by purplerawr
Summary: ... Draco Malfoy could not ignore. Draco Malfoy, the Head Boy against all odds, has been asked to get rid of a boggart. Only problem is, he doesn't think he can. Harry Potter offers to help - but what exactly are his motives? HPDM preslash.


One Boggart, Two Braggarts and Three Things Draco Malfoy Could Not Ignore.

Author: purplerawr

Rating: T

Word Count: 4176

Contains: a bit of angst, a bit of gore, a bit of fluff, a bit of humour, pre-slash... and one boggart, of course.

"... Malfoy! Draco Malfoy!"

Draco supposed that he couldn't ignore Professor McGonagall's calls, particularly as he was currently standing right by the doors to the Great Hall and she was only three feet away. Not to mention that, as Head Boy, one of his duties was to be dutiful to the Headmistress of Hogwarts. _Yes_, he divulged a mental aside to the imaginary audience inside his head, _Draco Malfoy, a boy who emerged from the Battle of Hogwarts with a lesser reputation than Filch's backside, is Head Boy. Draco Malfoy, a boy with one of the world's most hated men for a father, is Head Boy. Draco Malfoy, an ex-Death Eater, is Head Boy. Draco Malfoy, known to all as an untrustworthy Slytherin, is Head Boy!_

"I need your assistance," McGonagall spoke above Draco's inner-soliloquy, forcing him to snap back into reality.

"Yes, Professor?" he asked with a tone of polite deference, all the while noting that despite her air of activity and fairly heavy breathing the woman had not a hair out of place on her be-hatted head. One day, if he ever found the courage, he would ask her exactly how she managed that. Even his hair looked a bit mussed when he was ridiculously busy.

"A boggart has taken residence under Mr. Filch's desk and..." she paused for a moment, "he is not at all fond of them."

_Not many squibs are_ Draco thought to himself, not with Malfoy venom as much as bland observation.

"All the professors are frightfully busy preparing the Christmas decorations, as I am myself, so I am entrusting this job to you," she finished with a short huff of breath and waited for his answer, feet itching to keep on moving.

_Oh_, Draco thought, _so Head Boys also have to do menial labour?_ Whilst Draco thought this, deep down stirrings of worry were beginning to... stir. He hadn't ever properly disposed of a boggart before, and had no idea what his would him. Could he even handle it when...?

"Mr. Malfoy?" the Headmistress prompted.

"Ah, yes professor," Draco replied with a tone of smooth calm, "I will attend to the issue immediately. I am quite skilled with boggarts."

"Wonderful. Thank you Mr. Malfoy," McGonagall said with her signature tight-lipped smile. She then leaned forward and added in a lower voice, "you have been doing a stellar job these past few months. Keep up the good work."

"Thank you..." he barely said before she sped away. _Stellar job my left foot_, he inwardly sulked. Though he would be loath to admit it to anyone, Draco Malfoy didn't think he was a good Head Boy at all. Most of the teachers treated him with cold indifference, most of the students with open contempt. None of them listened to a word he said because he had no authority over people who had no respect for him. All he heard, albeit in whispers, from people was "Death Eater, Death Eater, Death Eater." Sometimes in shouts, though if he hadn't been adept at ignoring hecklers by now he surely would have run from school back to the Manor. In reality, he never let it show that such comments got past his skin. He didn't even hate the people who said such things, because they were often true. Nothing could change what he had done, so he would just have to live with his past.

The only people who treated him any differently were the Headmistress herself, the few remaining friends he had in Slytherin who still kept the proper distance - except Greg, who besides his own mother had nobody but Draco - and, surprisingly Hermione Granger, who would always greet him and smile. Once or twice they had even studied Runes together in the library. Yet Draco suspected this was more due to her Head Girl position than a genuine interest in a friendship with Draco Malfoy.

Draco took no stock in himself as Head Boy either. It has simply been that, due to severely depleted numbers in Slytherin house and those left in his year or the year below (though technically they had integrated so that many who had missed the opportunity could complete their education) wanting to keep a low-profile as members of the most hated house, his volunteering was out of necessity. He had never thought he would achieve the position, but against all odds McGonagall had chosen him. The Ravenclaw and Gryffindor nominees had been uncaring about the result (quite likely because the Ravenclaw boy looked more interested in the book he was holding and Weasley was there more due to his girlfriend than any aspiration of responsibility) but Ernie Macmillan from Hufflepuff had given him a look that could crucio. Draco was used to those sorts of looks now, though Ernie felt he had to give him one whenever they came across one another.

He didn't expect anybody to stop any of it, really. It was... karma. Yes. That is what the Muggles called it.

Draco realized he had been dawdling in his own thoughts for about two minutes, so set off with a look of determination plastered onto his face. He walked approximately ten steps before the dead weight of an arm dropped on his shoulder and caused his skin to almost fall off in sudden fear.

"Ah!" the sound escaped from his mouth before he could stop it. His heart was racing. It had been a while since he had been forced to live in constant fear of being tortured or killed by the other Death Eaters, or in a few instances something different but just as dire, but it had not been a while long enough. And it had been a long while since anybody had touched him, not since giving his mother a brief hug at the Manor before being escorted to Hogwarts by one of the Aurors watching over their family.

"You don't know how, do you?" This was a voice that quickly turned his look of fear into a grimace of annoyance, though his heart was still racing.

"I don't know what you are talking about, Potter," he replied haughtily, determined to keep looking straight ahead and not into the eyes of the speccy, Gryffindor git standing to his right. The people around them were already looking in curious interest and it made Draco's skin prickle because he preferred to be ignored. _Just bloody Potter doing something to get attention again_ he thought bitterly, though it was more a thought of long-practice than any truth. Draco had seen all the interviews Potter had given in the newspapers: all none of them.

"You do know," Potter said, "I'm talking about the boggart."

"What of it?" Draco snapped and then shut his mouth. That was not a good kind of response and it didn't come with a pleasant feeling. He had not felt anger he hadn't been able to ignore like this for a long while. He shrugged Potter's shoulder off his arm, treating it like a distasteful piece of flesh. Which it was. Then he began to walk away, still not looking at Potter, yet he soon heard the sound of following footsteps his ears had undeniably been waiting for.

"I could help out, you know... as a favour," Potter said, voice effortlessly close even though Draco was walking as fast as he could without breaking out into a jog.

"A favour from Lord Potter?" Draco asked in a voice that definitely couldn't melt butter, "I'm honoured."

"As you should be," Potter said with a haughty nonchalance that was almost Malfoy-level. Draco couldn't help but look at him then, suspicious towards the unusual behaviour. Then he realized that Potter was in fact taking the mickey. Instead of a sarcastic Malfoy smirk he was grinning in his escapee-lunatic way (how Draco wished they'd hurry up and take him back to the asylum) and his eyes were shining with amusement. All at Draco's expense, but Draco sensed that it was not meant in a scathing way. He was rather relieved just to know that Potter was still an idiotic Gryffindor no matter what happened and no matter how spooky his Malfoy impression.

"Potter, you are getting in the way of my duties," Draco said with a cold air, "Goodbye." He really was beginning to jog then, but still Potter was there.

"Your insults have lost their shine, Malfoy," he calmly observed.

"I'm Head Boy now, I have more important things to do than engaging in pointless insult matches with you." Draco came to a halt then, hoping to put Potter off-kilter, but the git was right there a millisecond later, statue-like and extremely unfazed. Draco was perturbed, but not speechless. "You are still following me."

"That's true." He didn't move an inch.

"I would like you to start doing the opposite," Draco said stiffly, trying not to show his anger. Even so, the two second year girls by the nearest window were pushed away by the strong warning vibe careening between the two boys.

"I think you're being stubborn. I think what you'd really like is my help," Potter said quietly, not missing a beat. He was just standing there, staring right at Draco, usually expressive face... expressionless.

Draco hadn't let himself get into a situation like this for many months. He had taught himself to be deferential to others. He had ample training whilst the Dark Lord had lovingly spent time repeatedly crushing his self-importance, and then self-worth, under his cold fist. He had spent too much time around violence and blood and hate and death. Now he even avoided casting offensive spells when possible, even touching other people, mostly because... he just couldn't. He had felt so small and afraid by the time the Final Battle ended he had learnt to put up new barriers, not ones of self-importance and bloodlines but ones of indifference. Some of the Malfoy snobbery and sarcastic wit still remained, but more as a sad, self-deprecating satire of himself than anything rooted in reality.

He acted as an empty, unfeeling space inside a thick shell - he never argued, never tried to prove others wrong, never stood up for himself. He did nothing with passion any more. The Dark Lord's final lesson to his youngest Death Eater had been that submission to others was the best way to avoid more pain. It wasn't a particularly good lesson, but Draco felt too weak inside to try anything else.

Thus he was rarely confronted in such a way any more. Mostly he was ignored, which was fine, but Draco supposed that Harry Potter had never been one to follow the social tides. Potter was challenging Draco, trying to irritate him, trying to garner a response, maybe actually trying to help him (_bloody Gryffindors and their need for heroics!_) He was doing what few other people would ever try to do with Draco Malfoy any more. Draco wasn't sure how to react.

"Come on," Harry eventually said, and not unkindly, as he started to walk again in the direction that led to Filch's office. Draco had little choice but to follow him. They walked in silence the rest of the way, Potter looking perfectly serene, Draco feeling angry with himself for following Potter and even angrier that he was letting himself feel anger over something that should have felt only mildly irritating. _What is it about that damn Potter that I can't even ignore my anger?_

A memory he had always kept remote flashed unbidden into his mind, covering Filch's fast-approaching door from his eyes in its intensity. Harry was different here, looking at Draco with a face covered in blood and castle-dust. Eyes such a dark, jaded, tired green it was a wonder they kept open. A mouth sending Draco a small, grim grin of reassurance despite the death and destruction covering them both like a dark fog, like the bodies steadily lining the hall floor. Yet for those scarce moments Draco focused on Harry's face, not the crushing despair, and could not look away. What he had felt then. What he could not stop feeling.

_Some emotions are harder to put away than others._

"Before we go in - where is the Boggart hiding again?"

"Under the desk," Draco answered without looking at Potter, afraid of how he appeared at that moment. Potter made a noise of affirmation.

"Yes, I can imagine that. Filch still hasn't got a window in there, has he?"

"No." Draco cleared his throat. "Well, shall we?" He looked at the door in blank, numb fear.

"Okay," Harry said and flung the door open. Draco smelt something awful, but at the same time so tantalizingly familiar. He tried to stop his nasal passages from working, but the stink was lodged there and refused to leave. Potter made no indication of smelling anything, walking in like they were about to enter a sweet shop. Draco trailed after unwillingly, his sense of fear distracting him from trying to look apathetic. "Wow, it's really dark in here..." Harry's voice carried across to him from the darkness.

Draco didn't reply, because suddenly the feeling of fear was pressing into him from all sides like a thousand wands. He heard himself make a small choking noise and Harry asked "Malfoy? Draco?" but Draco didn't register any of it properly because his own senses were blinding him. The air became thicker and thicker, the stench even more unbearable, and his hands began to shake. He couldn't even grasp his wand for safety.

He felt a hand grip his arm. "Something definitely isn't right here, we should..." but then the door closed, that much he could hear. "I don't understand this, it's so strong..."

Draco was lost inside of everything he had tried so desperately to hide from himself. When he closed his eyes, succumbing, he realized that the smell was the stench of the killing curse and the death that it left behind. He could smell the body of Charity Burbage after she had been flung down onto their dining room table, dead. The smell of pain in the victims he had unwillingly tortured. The smell of the Great Hall with so many, all dead.

Then it got worse, worse, worse. He opened his eyes. He could see it all. The dead, all crowding around him, twisting and writhing. His overwhelming guilt, gruesomely personified for him to see and never stop seeing. Dumbledore, the man he had condemned to death, looking gravely upon him. Bellatrix Lestrange, beckoning him with that mad look in her dead eyes. The other Death Eaters crowding around her, leering, teeth bared, skin crumbling away behind their torn masks. Severus, dear Severus, constantly choking on the grisly wound in his throat, dying, coming back, choking...

All those innocents who had died fighting the Death Eaters. Professor Lupin and Draco's cousin Nymphadora who he had never spoken a word to, swaying hand in hand. Fred Weasley, crying for his twin. The Creevey boy with a broken camera in his skeletal hands. Cedric Diggory, clinging to the Triwizard Cup. The dead were all here, silently accusing him. _It should have been you._

He cast his fevered eye upon one more body, laying still on the floor. It was Harry, this time dead and never coming back. This time condemning everybody to the Dark Lord's rule. He was ghostly pale and fading away, slowly turning to dust on the forest grass. He had that small smile on his face again, but his eyes weren't opening, he wasn't looking, he wasn't alive...

"Draco, all you have to say is _Riddikulus_. Its power is potent, but it's only a boggart... Draco!"

"Can you see this?" he whispered, eyes still fixated on the dead visions but body slightly aware of the alive person holding him up. "Can you?"

"Yes... we need to stop it. It's not real, Draco. All you need to do is..."

"I know it isn't real, but I deserve to see this."

"Nobody deserves this..."

"I was a part of this. A part of why it all happened. If I hadn't been such a coward..."

"Come on," Harry sounded so desperate even though really he was dead on the floor, "Please. Think of something funny. Let's say it together. _Riddikulus. Riddikulus!"_

"I can't." Draco replied and let his body free from its tight bonds of appearance, not bothering to act differently to how he felt any longer. "I can't."

"Oh for Merlin's sake... close your eyes."

"I shouldn't."

"Please, Draco."

"Okay. My eyes are closed." Draco felt a shift as Harry put one arm around his waist, the other reaching for his wand. He then felt a swish as the wand was cast through the air.

"_Riddikulus_! Shit, it's not working. It's still focused on your fear."

"My eyes are closed."

"I know. Forget what's around you. Think about something good."

"I can't. There isn't anything."

"Surely there must be! Think of the last time you felt really good, really safe, really... loved."

And there it was again. That one memory he could never quite ignore. He could feel the sturdy structure of the bench below him, the only thing stopping him from falling to the ground. The still presence of his mother and father, both silent and as lost as he felt. But mostly Harry's face and the few seconds of feeling something other than fear and grief that he had experienced since becoming a Death Eater. The first small sign of hope, because Harry Potter was alive, but also because Harry Potter was looking him in the eye.

The air felt cold then, not stifling with the stench of death. He still felt fear, but this fear felt further away and was muffled by the strong feeling the memory brought.

"_Expecto Patronum_!" Came Harry's voice, filled with clarity and a piercing resonance, and then all the fear vanished. "Open your eyes."

And he did. All he could see was the dull, grey room that was Filch's office. He blinked a few times. Attempted to steady himself. Yet he still felt Harry's comforting presence by his shoulders.

"We should probably take you to Madam Pomfrey. I don't know what was up with that boggart, but it's the strongest one I've ever come across. It's no wonder you look like you're about to pass out."

"I'm fine," Draco lied, fully expecting himself to go back into emotionless, despondent mode. Yet Harry, turning him around so they were finally face to face as they had been on the day of the Final Battle, wouldn't let him.

"You don't look it," Harry murmured, "but I can't force you. At the very least let's get out of here."

Draco gave a nod and then started to walk, only stumbling slightly, but Harry never let go of him. They stopped at the nearest empty classroom, which wasn't hard to come across on a Sunday afternoon, and Draco slumped into a seat. Harry stood nervously, watching him. Neither of them spoke for a passing while, but eventually Harry sat down opposite him, still close enough that Draco could feel him there when he closed his eyes.

The late afternoon sunlight, surprisingly warm for a winter's day, streamed through the dusty windows, casting light on the covers of the old books lining the windowsills and painting a golden glow onto one side of Harry's face. Harry didn't seem to mind when Draco stared at him, something that was novel for Draco, and in his post-shock stupor Draco didn't care about anything for a little while. So he stared in the way he hadn't let himself before, drinking in every feature of Harry's face. He focused on the scar at first, but then eventually left that to study a dark, determined set of eyebrows that seemed infinitely more interesting. The eyes underneath it were even more so, all the shades of green Draco could bring to mind lay there somewhere, but mostly they were a powerful shade of jade that burned out of his face like two vitally important questions searching for answers. His skin was also interesting, particularly in the light that highlighted the curve of his lip and straight line of his nose.

A few minutes passed and eventually Draco's mind brought him back to thinking about his current social situation. He was sitting alone in a classroom with Harry Potter, the most influential person in the Wizarding world, staring at him like a _lovesick crup_. If his mother could have been a telepathic butterfly on the wall, she would at this very moment telling Draco to talk about the possibility of an early release for his father, his mother's unhappy house arrest, the way the Malfoy family was treated. Draco himself was not convinced that now was the time for discussing such things. It seemed a waste to make this peaceful time of no barriers end. To think of his family was to think of his Malfoy honour and have to close himself away again.

"Are you feeling better?" Harry asked, still staring once Draco had stopped and looked down at his hands.

"I'm fine," Draco said, this time more convincingly. His glance darted up and then down again, now feeling too shy (_yes, shy, how pathetic_) to hold his eye.

"That's good," Harry said, pausing for a moment, "you know, I should have just offered to clear up that Boggart myself in the first place."

"Perhaps," Draco said in a deliberately vacant tone. "Why did you even try to help in the first place?"

"Hermione was worried about you," Harry admitted and Draco saw from the corner of his eye, a shrug of the shoulders. Draco couldn't help from raising a brow.

"Granger." Draco raised a brow.

"Yes. I don't see why that doesn't surprise you." Harry sounded a bit admonishing now. Draco couldn't help but think that the whole situation since Harry had begun to follow him and turned steadily more bizarre. Not that bizarre was a bad thing, he supposed.

"I suppose it shouldn't," Draco agreed.

"Would it surprise you if I said that I was worried about you?" Harry asked then. Each time he spoke more and more emotion seemed to flood into his voice. And the more it did the more Draco could not look up, no matter how much he secretly wanted to. He was used to people's disapproval, yes, their hatred, just about, but he was _not_ used to being worried about. Even his mother had been keeping a brave face since the Final Battle, never relenting to emotional displays. It just seemed like another thing that was too risky to react to, so something his barriers would tell him to block out. Yet he could not ignore the idea that people_ cared_ about him, not one bit.

"Draco," Harry said and touched his shoulder once again, this time not with a carelessly slung arm or a strong grip, but a gentle hand. "You seem so out of it all the time. You never fight back when people say all these things... and believe me, I'm all for trying to stop people from being careless and nasty when really we should be trying to console our differences, but you've got to stand up for yourself. Otherwise it won't ever stop, because people will see you as a target."

"I know all this," Draco said, frowning, "why are you telling me this?"

"Because it seemed like you needed to hear it from somebody."

"I see. But what does this do for you?"

"I guess it gives me peace of mind."

"...You're so selfish, Potter."

Harry gave him a friendly shove then and pushed him away. The stretched moment, whatever it had meant, slowly faded away and the atmosphere, a curious mix of embarrassing and relaxing, faded with it. "Shut up, Malfoy."

"No really, you should get some help with your head - it needs a good deflating."

"Ha-ha, you're absolutely right, _I'm _the stuck-up git here."

"Admitting to these things is the first step..."

Harry laughed for a few moments, a warm sound, and then stood up. The sunlight shifted on his face and Draco could see that smile again.

"Come on," Harry said, "let's go report back to McGonagall."

And then they left the room, Draco feeling enjoying the feeling of being weightless until the moment they came across another student, who had nothing but a glare for Draco. This time Draco glared back at him, with gusto, and the boy scuttled away like a frightened crab. Even though his carefully constructed barriers had not come down, Draco had taken a piece of happiness with him from that classroom and from somebody caring enough to banish a boggart for him - and the happiness rested behind the barriers, having woken something deep and unreachable within, so nothing could stop it now.

_All because of that bloody braggart and his bloody smile._

**-END-**

Hello! :) Long time no see.

No, I have not been in an unfortunate accident with a toaster and gone to a 'better place' - I am still here! And in the middle of important exams no less (slap me if you wish.) I just had a bit of inspiration that lent itself to actually writing out the words for once. It's nothing serious, just a one-shot (does it deserve to be more? Opinions?) and I wasn't even sure what it wanted to be (hence why it has a bit of _everything_.) I can't remember if I put across the braggart idea well enough, but oh well, I am too lazy to edit.

Enjoy!

- purplerawr x

p.s. anybody reading this who has recently posted on PBW, I sincerely love you and want you to live long, happy lives.

p.p.s. Would anybody object to me writing a short-ish Scorpius/Albus fic? An idea has been zooming around in my brain for months now, and I think I will write it when I find the time!


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